<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>don’t fret none by brooklynstevies</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29973717">don’t fret none</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooklynstevies/pseuds/brooklynstevies'>brooklynstevies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Touch-Starved Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 16:30:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,946</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29973717</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooklynstevies/pseuds/brooklynstevies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>if john keats is right in that touch has a memory, then dean winchester remembers too much. there have been so many times where dean hasn’t had touch without the intent to harm, interspersed with quick moments where people saw him as he truly was—touch starved and sometimes lonely. </p>
<p>or a recollection of touch.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>angsty destiel</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. un.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dean Winchester wakes up late. It’s unusual for him, this slow stretch of his body instead of the gasping breaths he’s become accustomed to over the years after nightmares and loud noises. His body’s used to being a tight string, one pull away from snapping. But this is different now. </p><p>Dean Winchester wakes up late. There’s no joke about four hours of sleep, no long nights staring at the ceiling. But the rattle in his chest, the ache he knows all too well, threatens to rear its head at any moment. </p><p>“Dean.”</p><p>The voice is rough, sleep-worn and just barely awake. Dean turns his head to look at Cas. The other man is half-asleep, eyes squinting to keep out light and hair smushed from the pillow. It’s hard, sometimes, to remember that he can have this, that it’s not going to be taken away. </p><p>He stops breathing for a moment, somehow afraid that if he looks away, it will disappear. </p><p>“C’mere.” Cas hasn’t graduated to stringing multiple words together yet, but it’s still early. “Stop thinking.”</p><p>Dean shifts, drawing closer to Cas. The ache is still there, pressing on his chest, taking up space beneath his rib cage. It hurts. And he should be used to that by now. </p><p>Cas is staring at him. No matter how many years later, there’s still something otherworldly about the ex-angel. Even without his grace. Even that he’s human now. Cas raises his hand, settling it on Dean’s cheek and running his fingers through Dean’s hair. It’s getting longer now. </p><p>Dean exhales shakily, closing his eyes. It takes him everything to resist clutching at Cas’s wrist. </p><p>It’s been a long time since he’s been touched without the intent to harm. Somewhere along the way, that’s changed. If a younger version of him could see himself now, he wouldn’t believe it.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-</p>
</div>When Dean is young and can’t sleep, Mary will walk down the hall cradling him. She’ll sing sometimes, or point out different things. Lamp. Wall. He’ll watch her, rapt, as she smiles down at him.<p><i>My little angel</i>, she’ll call him when he reaches up and clasps her face between chubby hands. There’s something about this moment that never escapes Dean, even as he forgets how she looked, the way she did up her hair. </p><p>But she leaves. And Dean doesn’t understand why his dad won’t look at him.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-</p>
</div>Cas cradles the back of Dean’s head, thumb slowly stroking back and forth. Every subtle motion sends a shiver down his spine. It’s still a shock to his system. Sometimes, it’s almost painful, accepting that touch can be soft. That it doesn’t have to hurt.<p>“Easy.” Cas’ voice is a rumble. “Stop thinking you think you don’t deserve this. We’re here. We’re alive. We’re real.”</p><p>Dean is half-way to shaking his head when Cas’ fingers press down further, slowly kneading the back of Dean’s neck. </p><p>“Do you not trust me, Dean Winchester? Is your faith in me that shaken? After all we’ve been through?”</p><p>Dean’s speechless. There are no words for this moment, for what he can have for the rest of his life. He’s never been particularly good at words, at articulating what he feels. It’s always been easier to reach out and do things. All action, no words. It’s easier to jump into bed than deal with the consequences of his emotions. </p><p>The ache in his chest subsides, a slow, dull roar rather than sharp pain. </p><p>“I, I—” It’s all that he can get out. Dean’s hands come up to clutch at the hem of Cas’ sleep shirt. </p><p>Cas hefts Dean closer to him, turning both of them over so Dean is lying on his back, half covered by Cas’ body. </p><p>“Do you not think I’ve been hearing your prayers since the day I pulled you out of Hell? The want you have?”</p><p>Cas presses a kiss gently into Dean’s hairline. There’s wetness on Dean’s cheeks, the man’s eyes screwed shut in order to avoid the tears. He’s shaking. </p><p>“Dean Winchester. I saw your soul and it burned brighter than anyone I've ever seen. And I’ve been on this earth for a long time.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-</p>
</div>Sammy’s three when John decides to use Dean as bait for the first time. He would never tell his father, but Dean’s scared. He’s always scared, but John tells him that he has to watch out for Sammy and this is the best way to do so. Sammy could get hurt.<p>So Dean goes along with it, drowning in ill-fitted clothes and shivering from the cold. His dad says the monster hunts children. And he has to wait. Stay still. </p><p>Dean spends what seems like a lifetime digging his feet into the dirt, even though John will likely get mad when they go back to the hotel room. He’s about to call out, bored, when the thing whips past him. It shoves him, hard, and he falls, colliding with a rock. </p><p>Pain blossoms across Dean’s shoulder and he’s trying to get up quickly, even as John’s there with his usual shotgun. The area burns, very likely already forming a bruise. </p><p><i>You did good, champ</i>, John says, hauling him up and clapping him on the back. Dean bites his lip to keep from crying out. His dad told him to be strong, that Winchesters don’t feel pain. Dean wants to cry, so he clenches his hands into fists and keeps them there until his fingernails are bloody and red. </p><p>Sammy is still babbling to himself when they walk back into the motel room. He tumbles to his knees, already walking, and toddles over to Dean. </p><p>Dean opens up his hands to lift Sammy up when his younger pauses and points to Dean’s hands. <i>Dee hurt!</i></p><p>There’s a distinct furrow between Sam’s brow that will stay there for the rest of his life. Sammy tugs one of Dean’s hands towards him and places a kiss directly into his palm in exactly the same way the book Dean read to him earlier had it. <i>All better?</i></p><p>Dean laughs, a soft sound. <i>Yeah, Sammy. All better.</i></p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-</p>
</div>Dean’s still quiet underneath Cas. The only difference is that he has tucked his face into the crook of Cas’ neck. He attempts to stop shuddering, but it seems like an impossibility at this moment.<p>“Let me love you, Dean. Let me show you how worthy you are.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. deux.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>bit of a cw for john’s a+ parenting, but yeah, should mostly be fluff!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s a beat of silence as Dean closes his eyes, unable to move. </p><p>Cas fills the silence. “I know you think you aren’t deserving, but you are.” The ex-angel wraps a hand underneath Dean’s shoulders, a way to keep him together. A slight wetness makes Cas reel back, only to find that a few tears have slipped down Dean’s cheeks. </p><p>Cas leverages himself up so he can cradle Dean’s face, thumbs swiping away the tears. “I speak only truth with you. I’ve always tried to. Believe me. You’ve done so before.”</p><p>Dean’s voice is rough when he answers. It’s more hesitant that Cas has ever seen the hunter before. </p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>Cas leans down to kiss either of Dean’s cheeks. It’s not something he does often, the gesture (like most things) too intimate for them in outside settings. But here, here they are safe. Here, Dean can relax. </p><p>“As sure as life.”</p><p>The ex-angel draws back, though not fully separating from Dean, to lay on his side. He coaxes Dean to lay on his tummy, watching how the man’s limbs splay out, vulnerable in a sense that Cas never would have seen before. </p><p>Dean is tracking him, eyes still a bit watery and red-rimmed.</p><p>“Hey,” Cas says, looking back at him, “It’s okay.”</p><p>He places a hand on Dean’s back, trying to ground him. Dean’s eyes widen. The warmth is always a shock to him, something that wasn’t there when he was younger.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-</p>
</div>They’ve moved, yet again. Dean wouldn’t be bothered by it, except he’s 13. The last school had his friends, and now he has to start all over again.<p>He has to start all over again. He tries to make friends. He really does. But he’s got scraped knees and old clothing from thrift stores and a raggedy backpack that looks like it’s gone through better days. </p><p>Dean’s proud of what he does. He takes care of people, he protects them. But it doesn’t stop the stares and the laughs. </p><p>He’s getting out of school one day, taking a shortcut across the soccer field when they show up. </p><p><i>Winchester!</i> It’s a chorus of voices. Dean tries to run, but he ends up surrounded. <i>You think you’re better than us? You think you’re all that?</i></p><p>Dean braces himself, ready to throw a punch, but they’re too many. He gets shoved, then shoved again. </p><p>He falls to the ground, knees stinging. </p><p><i>You aren’t shit, Winchester.</i> </p><p>They leave, and Dean sits up, trying to triage the situation. His jeans are ripped, a slight cut across the knee. He wonders if the blood will come out.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-</p>
</div>Cas’ hand moves slowly across his back. It drifts lower and lower until Cas is rucking up his shirt, seeking skin to skin contact.<p>The motion makes Dean’s eyes drift closed. He’s content like this. </p><p>“Cas,” he starts. Words are failing him. “Feels good.”</p><p>Dean sinks further into the mattress, even as Cas keeps up the motion. Dean’s breathing starts slowing down, almost as if he’s going back to sleep. It’s so different—this Dean—knowing that something has changed. That the man who couldn’t sleep without aid, who had nightmares, is now spending time under the covers. </p><p>Cas leans in to drop a kiss against Dean’s temple, taking care with Dean, as always. </p><p>“Good things do happen, Dean. Haven’t you learned this by now?” </p><p>Dean hums, eyes still closed. “Maybe learning one more time wouldn’t hurt.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-</p>
</div>A strangled yell comes from Dean, one hand clutching at the sheets and the other scrabbling at the gunshot wound near his clavicle. Goddamn, but it hurts like a son of a bitch.<p><i>Stop squirming, you’re just making it hurt.</i> Usually Sam’s words make him see sense, but there’s currently a bullet in him so what exactly does Sammy want him to do?</p><p>Dean settles for giving him a glare. </p><p>The next words, however, make Dean freeze. <i>Was Dad drunk again?</i></p><p>Dean doesn’t want to tell Sam the truth. Sam’s looking at the floor, hands still steady, but almost sad and angry. </p><p><i>Hey</i>, Dean says softly, <i>focus on getting the bullet out. Put what you’ve been seeing in those medical dramas you watch to good use.</i></p><p>Sam laughs. <i>Those are the only ones on cable and you know it.</i></p><p>Dean reaches out and tousles Sam’s hair. It’s getting longer, and Dean has tried everything to stop John from cutting it. Sam seems happier with it. </p><p>
  <i>I trust you, Sammy. Now get the bullet out of me.</i>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-</p>
</div>Cas draws back to look at Dean, light haloed around him from the morning sun. He looks angelic, even as he did in Hell.<p>“Do you know,” Cas asks mostly to himself, “that most people don’t understand the significance of the word temple? Most English speakers don’t.”</p><p>He leans forward to brush his lips against Dean’s temple again, slowly, while watching Dean do a full body shudder. “You are most vulnerable here. Most tender. It is the place that most return to when showing affection.”</p><p>Dean opens one eye, tracking Cas as he lays his head against the pillow one more time. There’s a quiet reverence between them, something fragile. </p><p>“When a temple is a place of worship,” Cas continues, “the tenderness with which we perform certain actions is tantamount. To show love, devotion. Do you understand?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>